


A Friend

by mythology1746



Series: Across the Ocean [2]
Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: F/M, Gen, hey look a sequel two years later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 09:26:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18568570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mythology1746/pseuds/mythology1746
Summary: Anya and Dmitry have finally settled in New York. It is not, perhaps, the life Anya would have once imagined for herself, but it's a good life, nonetheless.





	A Friend

**Author's Note:**

> This is also unbetad, though I did read through. I started writing this a year ago and then completely stopped, but Jeremy Jordan just had a baby and that inspired me to finish this. It would make a lot more sense if you read Across the Ocean first, but I suppose that's not a requirement. Enjoy! :)

Charles Kelly’s French was significantly better than his older sister’s, much to his amusement and Connie’s immense frustration.

“Stop being so smug, asshole.”

Connie moved to hit her brother from across the table, but Anya put a hand on her shoulder. “In French, dear.”

This caused Charles to break out into laughter, and after a moment of obviously trying to suppress it, his sister began to giggle as well.

Anya smiled, pushing down the pang of sadness that came with her vague memories of laughing with her sisters, long dead.

It had been about five months since Anya had done the interview for Katherine, and not long after that, she’d been offered a job by the couple: to teach their children French, and sometimes watch over them when work was taking up too much time. The salary was good—Anya thought it was _too_ generous, but Jack and Katherine argued that they had plenty of money—and it allowed her and Dmitry to move into a slightly nicer flat.

The kids were nice. Charles was fifteen and quick-witted, talking at a mile a minute and making smartass comments whenever possible—Anya could imagine that was what Jack had been like as a teenager. Connie was two years older than her brother, and she had the same fire as her mother. Anya rather saw herself in Connie, often (especially) when she would snap at her brother, affection hidden under the sharpness.

It was also a good job in the regard that Anya’s English was still improving gradually, and she was still teaching Dmitry. They did their best to speak only English, even in just the privacy of their home.

The laughter in the kitchen finally died down, and Connie looked back at her notes before haltingly forcing herself through a sentence in French.

Any smiled, pointing out pronunciation errors and a minor grammar mistake.

Half an hour later, while Anya was going through some new vocabulary words, the front door swung open, and in walked the kids’ father, Jack Kelly.

Jack was a nice guy; Anya had come to know him decently well, and he got on swimmingly with Dmitry—although, Dmitry still had a pretty hard time understanding him a lot of the time. Even Anya missed some of the things Jack said, although he was pretty good at catching himself.

Charles and Connie both stood up and hurried to greet their father in the living room. Knowing that was essentially the end of the day’s lesson—she had tried, in the past, to keep teaching after either Jack or Katherine had come home and found it rather impossible—Anya gathered up their materials.

Once Jack was done saying hello to his kids, he slid into the kitchen.

“How’d the kids do today, Anya?” He always asked this.

As usual, Anya smiled back. “Lovely, of course.”

Jack grinned. “Katherine’s gotta work late, so I’m gonna start up dinner. D’you want to stay?”

“Oh—no, thank you. Dmitry has had a tough week, and he will be pretty thrilled if I get home early.”

“Gotcha. Well, we’ll see you both on Sunday?”

“Of course. _Au revoir_ , Charles, Connie.”

Anya slung her bag over her shoulder and headed out.

 

Anya and Dmitry lived about twenty minutes away by foot, a path which Anya was pretty familiar with by this point. Their flat was slightly farther than Dmitry’s place of work—it took him the better part of an hour to walk to and from—but he said it was worth living in a better part of the city.

The flat was little—kitchenette, living room, single bedroom, and a dinky bathroom—but the entire complex was rather clean and felt very homey.

Once she got home, stopping only to grab their mail downstairs, Anya took off her shoes and settled on the couch. She flipped through the mail, hoping for a letter from her Nana; it had been about two weeks since she’d sent off her last correspondence, so the return letter should arrive any day. Unfortunately, there was nothing for her, though there was a letter postmarked from France with Vlad’s easily recognizable scrawl on the front.

Pleased that there was nothing urgent, Anya picked up the book she was reading; she’d been slowly making her way through Jane Austin’s novels, both to help her comprehension of English and because she enjoyed the stories.

An hour later, Dmitry arrived home. Anya looked up from her book to watch him flop down onto the couch next to her, head falling against the wall.

“Rough day of work?” Anya asked as she closed her novel.

“Not any more worse than usual. Just very long.”

Anya took his hand. “Have you given any more though to David’s offer?”

About a month ago, Anya and Dmitry had finally met David Jacobs, Jack’s best friend. David had heard that Dmitry worked a rather unfortunate job; he’d mentioned that his brother had some connections with people that that might want an extra pair of hands.

“You know that we’re already indebted to Jack and Katherine.”

“I understand, but I do not want to see you work yourself to death.”

She leaned against him; Dmitry was still the most stubborn person she had ever met, and he had a surprisingly powerful sense of pride. Still, Anya wasn’t exaggerating her fear that working at the paper mill would drive Dmitry to an early grave. Life as a Russian street rat hadn’t prepared him for factory work.

“Well, at the very least, keep thinking on it. For me?”

She saw the hint of a smile. “Of course. Anything for you, Anya.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a bit, simple sitting and listening to the sound of their mingled breathing.

Eventually, Anya said, “A letter came from Vlad.”

“Did you open it?”

“No, I was waiting for you. Shall I read it now?”

“Sure. Maybe it will cheer me up.”

Anya grabbed the envelope from where it sat on the coffee table. She tore the seal carefully, more out of habit than any great desire to preserve the paper. The letter inside was written in Cyrillic, and the familiar script made Anya smile—she and her grandmother wrote to one another inn French, so she rarely saw any written Russian these days.”

“‘Dmitry,’” she read, forgoing English given she had no desire to translate the whole letter.

“‘I hope this letter is finding you in good health. Are you and Anya still surviving New York City? Maybe one day I’ll come to visit—hey, I might even have real papers this time!

“‘France is still as lovely as ever. I’m loving everything here, and it’s still so novel to look outside and just see the Eiffel Tower.

“‘I’m writing to let you know that Lily and I have eloped!’”

At this, Dmitry’s head snapped up. “They got _married_?”

He tried to grab at the letter, but Anya pulled it out of his reach. “You told _me_ to read it, so let me finish reading it!

“‘Yes, yes, I can hear your surprise, even as I’m penning this letter. No doubt you’re recalling all the times I bemoaned the institution—and, yes, I’ll admit I have done that, I won’t lie. In my youth, I might have had a rather…uncouth opinion about all that business.

“‘Really, though, it was Anya’s grandmama who convinced us! As I hope she’s told Anya, the Dowager Empress has begun to tolerate seeing me around all the time. In fact, I think she’s rather starting to like me. (Lily, who’s reading this letter over my shoulder as I write, just broke out laughing, but I truly have hope.) Regardless, her majesty even deigns to join us at meals when it’s not an important event or she’s feeling rather generous. It was at one such dinner that Lily and I were feeling rather happy and her majesty seemed to catch onto our giddy mood.

“‘As I was about to go home, the Dowager Empress pulled me aside and started to tell me that I was clearly toying with Lily. Me? Toying with a lady’s affection? Can you imagine that? Don’t answer that, Dmitry, I expect I know your answer and I expect I don’t want your sass.

“‘Well, thinking about her majesty’s words, I realized that while our sordid affair in our youth was fun, really that’s not the way we should continue to spend the rest of our lives. And so Lily begged a bit of time off of her Lady-in-Waiting duties and we took a vacation to the beaches of Southern France and got married. We’ve only just now returned to Paris.

“‘I hope that I continue to love married life, and as I said—perhaps I might come visit you in New York. Until next time, Vlad.”

Anya folded the letter and set it onto the table. Also in the envelope was a photograph, showing Lily and Vlad set against a lovely, small church. Lily’s dress was pretty white lace; a leather belt was tied across her waist, in a color that appeared to match Vlad’s tie in color.

“I can’t believe they got _married_ ,” Dmitry said.

Anya paused, her eyes drifting over the photo. “Come on, we should eat dinner. We should have enough money to buy a frame. We can put it next to Nana’s music box, there on the mantle.”

 

Almost three weeks later, Anya found herself at the Kelly household long after dark. It didn’t happen often, but sometimes both Katherine and Jack would have to stay late at work—typically when there was breaking news that absolutely _had_ to make it into morning edition of the paper. When this happened, Anya would stay late to make dinner, see the kids off to bed, and wait for one of them to get home.

Charles and Connie were remarkably easy to take care of. Anya didn’t know if it was because they were teenagers—though she was certain that she and her sisters were handfuls at that age, or at least _she_ was—or that they simply had a wonderful upbringing.

Anya didn’t love being there so late, but she wasn’t upset; as far as jobs went, it wasn’t the worst, and these occasions where she had to stay were far and few between.

About three hours after Anya was supposed to go home, the front door swung open and in walked Katherine.

Katherine looked tired; her hair was falling out of its bun, and her eyes were heavily lidded, as though she were moments away from falling asleep.

“Oh, Anya—I forgot you’d still be here.”

“Hard day? I have some soup on the stove if you want something to eat.”

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

Anya fetched a bowl from the cabinet and ladled some soup as Katherine tossed her bag and coat onto the table by the front door.

Katherine sat down heavily, pulling her dinner closer. “I’m so sorry I got home so late. I’m sure you wanted to get home ages ago.”

“It’s understandable. Were you on a big story?” Anya leaned against the pantry.

“Yeah. There’s something happening in Washington, so we all had to stay as information filtered in. Then we had to finish getting the morning edition together.”

Anya raised an eyebrow. “Is it something lifechanging?”

Katherine made a face. “Unfortunately, no. We were waiting for something that they ended up benching.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. That must be frustrating.”

“It’s not the biggest bust I’ve ever had on a story. That was…hm, actually, it was probably the story I was chasing when I met you.”

“Me? Oh—in Paris?”

“Yeah. I had to _beg_ my editor to let me go. I was so sure that the Anastasia story would be a big one, but nothing ended up coming of any of it.”

Logically, Anya had assumed Katherine had been in Paris to learn about the news of the missing Grand Duchess once it was clear that Katherine was a reporter, but Anya had never thought about it. Katherine had never asked Anya to talk more about her family or life in Russia after that interview she and Dmitry did, and neither of them wanted to open up any lines of inquiry Katherine could follow.

After a momentary pause, Anya said, “Well, Dmitry and I are thankful you were there.”

“Definitely! I’m glad our meeting came out of that trip, if nothing else.” Katherine pushed some soup around her bowl. “Why don’t you stay the night? I’d hate to send you home on foot this late.”

“If you want. I don’t mind walking home, I’ve walked through worse.”

“Oh—nonsense. The guest bedroom is already made up, and I can grab you something to sleep in.”

“That’s very kind of you—thank you, Katherine.”

Katherine ate her soup quickly, then brought her bowl to the sink. “I’ll go get you something. Why don’t you go make yourself comfortable in the guest room? I’ll be there in a moment.”

Anya fetched her coat from the hook next to the front door and her bag from the sofa before heading back into the guest room. Anya had never stayed there, but she’d helped the kids clean the room up as part of their chores. It was nice, if lacking some of the other touches that made the apartment super home-y.. The walls were bare except for a few framed newspapers, and the quilt was a simple red tartan. A small dresser sat in the corner, matching the desk against the window.

There was a soft knock on the door, which Anya had left ajar.

“Here,” said Katherine as she pushed it open. “This should do well for the night.”

“Yes, this is perfect.”

“Alright, the washroom is all yours. If you need anything, I’m going to wait up for Jack in the living room.” With that, Katherine left the clothes on the dresser and ducked out.

 

Anya woke early, as she usually did—a holdover from when she had lived in Russia, where waking early meant having a better shot at getting food an managing to be assigned work.

After pulling on the borrowed dressing gown, Anya headed into the kitchen. Only Connie was already up, sitting at the table and sipping from a mug, eyes closed; a folded newspaper sat in front of her. She glanced over when Anya scooted one of the chairs.

“Oh—Miss Anya! I didn’t know you were still here.”

“It was very late when your mother got home, and offered that I stay the night.”

“Oh, well. There’s still some coffee in the percolator, if you want.”

Anya nodded her thanks and fetched herself a mug. The coffee was still nice and hot, and Anya added a bit of sugar before joining Connie at the table.

Connie watched as Anya took a sip. “I can’t believe you can drink this stuff without milk.”

“I’ve never really used milk. Sometimes I didn’t even have sugar.”

“Oh, yuck. You Russians are crazy intense.”

Anya smirked slightly. “The bitterness helped to warm out blood in the cold.” She paused. “You’re up rather early.”

Connie frowned. “I woke up and couldn’t fall back asleep.”

“Anything on your mind, dear?”

“I—no, not…not really.”

“Are you quite sure?”

Connie looked away. “There’s this…boy, at school.”

Anya smiled. “Ah, yes. Thoughts of boys.”

Connie lowered her voice. “Please don’t tell Charlie. He’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

“He won’t hear a word from me. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not…not today. Maybe later.”

“Alright. I’m here for you, whenever you might want to discuss it.”

“Thank you, Miss Anya.”

They say in companionable silence, sipping coffee, for a few minutes. Connie eventually opened the paper and began browsing; Anya considered grabbing one of the other papers from the table by the front door, but she wasn’t entirely in the mood to read at the moment. She was content to relax with her coffee for the time being.

Half an hour later, Anya heard a door open, and out walked Katherine. She was already dressed for the day, wearing a plaid skirt and loose blouse, a coat slung over her arm.

She came into the kitchen and draped her coat over an empty chair and swept over to the stove. She grabbed a pot from its hook, filled it with a bit of water, and set it on a burner, which she lit.

“Good morning Connie. Hello, Anya.”

“Morning, mom.”

“Good morning, Katherine.”

“Where’s your brother? He should be up by now.”

“He probably overslept. I can go wake him.”

“Let him know breakfast will be ready in ten minutes!”

Connie scurried out of the room, her dressing gown trailing behind her.

Anya stifled a giggle as Katherine rolled her eyes affectionately. “Are the teenage years finally giving you greys? I remember giving my caretakers quite a hard time when I was that age.”

“They’re great individually, it’s just the bickering. Do you have siblings, Anya?”

“I…yes. I used to.”

“Oh.” Katherine bit her lip. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It was all a long time ago.”

“I remember the research I did on the Russian aristocracy, and their sacking at the hands of the communists. It must have been terrible to live through that.”

Anya immediately regretted this turn of conversation, but she just said, “It was unfortunate, yes.”

Katherine seemed to shake herself. “I’m sorry, I’m sure that’s not what you want to be talking about right now. You’re welcome to take the day off if you need—I know you weren’t expecting to stay the night last night.”

“I appreciate that, but I don’t mind coming back after Charles and Connie get back from school.”

“Are you sure? Really, the kids can handle one day alone in the apartment.”

“I’m sure. Dmitry will be at work all day, anyway, and I enjoy spending time with them.”

“Alright,” Katherine pursed her lips. “Well, I owe you a day off, any time. This has never happened on a weeknight before, and I feel bad.”

“If you insist.”

 

It was an entirely normal Monday when Anya arrived at the Kelly household to find a note taped to the front door that read _Anya— we’ve had a bit of a complication—nothing too urgent—please meet us at the local hospital_ , along with an address.

When she got there, the staff led her quickly to a waiting area on the fourth floor. Jack, Katherine, and Connie were waiting, sitting tensely. Katherine saw Anya first and sprang to her feet.

“What’s wrong?” Anya asked.

“Charles had a bit of a cough this weekend, but this morning the school sent for me, advising that he might be contagious and we should have a physician look over him.”

“Is he alright?”

“As far as we know it’s not severe, but we don’t want to take any chances. We just wanted to let you know what was going on, but we wanted to be here, in case there was news.”

“Of course,” Anya nodded. “I understand. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Connie looked up. “Would it…would it be possible to spend the afternoon with you, Miss Anya? I… I don’t much enjoy hospitals.”

Anya looked to Jack and Katherine. Jack said, “We don’t know if it’s contagious, and I would rather you not go back to our apartment until we know what’s wrong.”

Anya frowned. “I could take you back to my flat, but I must say that it is rather small.”

“Could I, mom? Dad?”

Katherine nodded. “Alright. We’ll send for you if we know _anything_ , alright?”

Connie nodded eagerly. “Of course.”

Katherine leaned in close to Anya. “Are you sure it’s not too much a bother?”

“Of course not,” Anya shook her head. “Really.”

Anya led Connie back out of the hospital. “Do you mind walking? My flat is reasonably close.”

“That’s fine, Miss Anya.”

They set off at a brisk pace.

“I do want to warn you, Connie, it’s a small apartment. Dmitry and I have never really had anyone over before.”

“I understand. I just didn’t want to be there anymore.”

Anya frowned. “Would it be alright if I asked why you are not fond of hospitals?”

“When I was a kid, father had this friend—Uncle Charlie. Charles is named after him; Uncle felt so honored. He and father went _way_ back, but I guess Uncle Charlie was a sickly child, and he never really recovered. Daddy used to visit him every day, and he’d bring me a lot—Charles was too young, but Uncle Charlie loved seeing either of us.”

“What happened?”

“Uncle Charlie passed. My father still cries about it sometimes when he thinks no one notices. I know it’s not the same, but I don’t think I’d ever recover if I lost Charles.”

Anya laid a hand on Connie’s shoulder. “I understand. I…I have lost people, too.”

Connie looked at Anya. “You never really talk about any family.”

“I suppose not. Most of my parents died when Russia was turned into a nightmare.”

“Who…who did you loose?”

“My sisters and brother. And our parents. All I’ve got left is one grandmother, and we correspond a bit, though she lives rather far away, in France.”

“Is that why you’re so good at French?”

“Me and all my siblings were taught French as children. The upper-class Russians preferred it to speaking Russian—made them feel more distinguished from the commoners.”

Connie frowned. “That’s…weird.”

Anya laughed a little. “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it. I hadn’t considered it.”

The two of them continued on silently. The closer they got to Anya’s flat, the more she regretted the choice to invite Connie back. Sure, they had moved out of the worst of the slums, but the neighborhood was still leagues poorer than anything Connie was sure to have seen before. Still, Connie didn’t make any indication that she was uncomfortable, or that she felt unsafe…or disgusted.

“We have no lift, and our flat is on the third floor.”

“That’s okay, Miss Anya. I don’t mind a few stairs.”

Anya led Connie into her flat, trying to picture it from an outsider’s point of view. It was small, but it was clean. Anya never wanted to be reminded of living in the filth of the Russian streets, and she and Dmitry didn’t mind a bit of cleaning, so they did their best to keep the place looking spotless. Their furniture was mismatched, made up of pretty much whatever they could find cheaply.

Connie seemed entirely unbothered by any of this, and immediately settled herself at the kitchen table, flopping her bag down in front of her.

“Have you eaten since your parents picked you up from school?”

“No, Miss Anya.”

“Are you hungry?”

“No, that’s okay.” Connie paused. “Your place is really cute.”

Anya smiled. “Thank you. We did not take a lot with us from Russia, so most of our things have been purchased secondarily.”

Connie’s eyes flitted across the room, stopping on the mantle. Anya hadn’t thought too hard about what was up there—three framed photographs, a box which held all their correspondence with Vlad and her grandmama, and her grandmama’s music box, which she’d been sent not too long after Anya and Dmitry arrived in America, a reminder of her home, the letter had said.

“Who’re they?” Connie pointed at the frames.

“My grandmother is on the left, and Dmitry’s friend and his wife are on the right.” The third photograph was of Anya and Dmitry, the day they got married in a New York courthouse.

“I didn’t know your gramdma was still around. I thought your whole family was…gone.”

Anya had to stop from kicking herself. “We were not close for years. She had left Russia before the aristocracy fell, so she was safe. I had no idea that she was still alive until after we got out of the country.”

“You didn’t want to live with her?”

“Dmitry and I wanted to start over. To forget about the past.”

 

Anya was given the whole week after the small scare with Charlie off. Katherine and Jack sent Anya half her regular week’s pay, since it was their choice to suspend lessons. It was weird, not having anything to do all week, but Anya did her best to stay busy. She ran a bunch of the errands that had piled up—restocked their food, cleaned the apartment, and other menial labor tasks.

Dmitry’s hours, on the other hand, seemed longer than ever; he got home later and later, and was always exhausted. Anya was almost tempted to accept David Jacobs’s brother’s job offer on Dmitry’s behalf, although she knew he was too stubborn to allow anything like that. He would probably stay on at the papermill, just to spite her.

It was nice to return to work the following Monday. Charles seemed no worse for the wear, but Connie would glance over at him nervously every time he so much as cleared his throat. It was cute, Anya thought, though it made her think of the precarious way everyone used to act around Alexei, poor fragile Alexei. She had never really had a chance to feel the overprotective older sister—she was the youngest girl, and Alexei was so over-protected as it was there was nowhere for her to place worry in that mess.

Their lessons were cut short when Katherine arrived home an hour early. This had happened exactly zero times before, and Anya could only imagine it was still out of concern over Charlie.

Charles and Connie were out of their chairs the second they saw their mother.

“Mom!” Charles looks confused. “Was everything okay at work?”

“Huh? Oh, yes, dear, I just had some research I thought I might have better resources for at my father’s old house.”

Connie said, “Is there an interesting story to look forward to, mother?”

“I don’t know yet.” She looked over at Anya. “I didn’t meant to disturb you guys early, but I imagine we won’t be going back to French?”

Anya smiled and shook her head as Charles and Connie exchanged sheepish looks.

“Kids, why don’t you head out for a bit? I want to talk to Anya about boring adult stuff, and I don’t think you want to sit here and listen to that.”

“Alright, mother.”

Connie and Charles ran off and got their coats, took a bit of money that their mother offered her, gave their farewells to Anya, and headed out of the apartment. Katherine took Charles’s vacated chair, across from Anya at the table

“How are you doing, Anya? It feels weird to have not seen you around in a whole week, you’ve become rather part of our routine around here.”

“Alright. I did a lot of chores last week and tried to think of a way to convince Dmitry to stop work at the paper mill.”

Katherine nodded distractedly. “Of course, of course.”

“Is everything okay with you, Katherine? You seem…distracted.”

Katherine tapped at the table. Abruptly, she said, “It was nice of you, to have Connie over the other week. But she mentioned something and I’m just…a bit confused.”

Anya cocked her head. “What was it?”

“She said there was a picture of an old woman. You said it was your grandmother—“Anya nodded—“and Connie thought she looked familiar.”

“My grandmother was rather part of the social pages in France.”

Katherine kept talking as though Anya hadn’t said anything. “Connie had helped me a bit with the Anastasia case, just with the preliminary research. She went through it the other day…and she realized that that’s where she recognized that photo from. Connie said it was a different image, but it was unmistakably the same woman.”

Anya felt a rock sink in her stomach. She hadn’t considered that Connie would recognize her grandmother, hadn’t considered that she would look that closely at any of the photos at her apartment, but she should have. All her experience with these kids…she knew they were clever.

Katherine pressed on. “I brushed aside the fact that I met you in France the once, but…but…you have a photo of Maria Feodorovna, who you told my daughter was your—”

“Grandmother.”

Katherine nodded.

Anya didn’t know what to do with this. She didn’t think there was a way out of this. Katherine was smart. All of Dmitry’s worry that even the slightest prod in the right direction would lead Katherine to Anastasia Romanov.

“I…I think that you have already made conclusions. I would like to hear them.”

“Her Majesty told everyone that Anastasia was dead. That she died with the rest of her siblings and parents in nineteen seventeen, that the search was moot. But I…I really thought there was something there, and my instincts aren’t crap. And everything you and Dmitry told me for my article, it made sense. It fit with this entire timeline. You…you’re the long-lost Grand Duchess.”

Anya stared at Katherine. Katherine’s jaw was locked but twitching, stubborn.

“Yes. I…I had no idea who I was until we got to Paris. The memories…they came back. Dmitry…he helped me get them back. I don’t know. I had my chance to take back the name, but…it wasn’t what I wanted. It…Anastasia living…it was not what history would have wanted.”

“You could’ve lived like a princess, and yet you chose to move to America and get a working class job?”

Anya pursed her lips. “What…what are you going to do with this, Katherine?”

“What do you mean?”

“The only people alive that know about this are Dmitry and I, my grandmama, Dmitry’s friend Vlad, and his wife Lily. The secret was supposed to die with us.”

“And your kids? I don’t mean to presume, but…I could see you and Dmitry having them. That’s all.”

“I…I have not thought that far ahead.”

“Look, Anya, I promise I won’t say anything to anyone. Not even Jack, if you don’t want. But…I’m just very naturally curious. It’s…it’s okay, if you don’t want to talk about it. I’m sorry for confronting you, this way.”

“One day, maybe. One day I will try and explain the full story. My life…it has been weird.”

“I am sorry, Anya. Not just about this—your whole family. The whole world knows what happened, and it was just…horrible.”

“Thank you. Really. You are a true friend.”

**Author's Note:**

> Couple extra notes:  
> -This takes place in canon timelines; Jack was canonically 17 in 1899 when Newsies took place, and I personally headcanon Katherine to be 19 at the time (based on the fact she keeps calling Jack a boy...idk it makes sense in my head), and this story takes place in about 1928, about a year after the Anastasia musical takes place.  
> -I don't imagine Anya speaks amazing English, which is why she doesn't use contractions (...shouldn't be using them, possibly I missed it in editing), but I don't know if she would have a Russian accent or French accent or some weird merged version since from what I understand she spoke both perfectly.  
> -I suck a both ending and naming things. I'm sorry.  
> -I may or may not write Katherine realizing who Anastasia is...who knows.


End file.
